


i go through

by fowlaaa



Series: i go through & related works [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because Tyrion was onto something with that drinking game, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, Oral Sex, POV Brienne of Tarth, Reunions, Slow Burn, and maybe they all need to just play it again after the war is through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-03-17 17:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowlaaa/pseuds/fowlaaa
Summary: Post-series fix-it-fic. In which Jaime survived, Brienne’s heart is guarded, and Tyrion sees fit to bring back a certain drinking game that he introduced to them all back in Winterfell....





	1. you go 'round and around it

**Author's Note:**

> There are a million beautiful fics out there about the ways in which Jaime might have survived those falling rocks after all. This isn’t one of them. Instead, I’m gonna assume he’s alive and kinda blast past the how and why to just… write some nonsense, because it’s what my brain told me I should do today instead of packing for my vacation.
> 
> Split into SIX parts, because it started to get longer than anticipated and also if I post PART of it, I'll feel more accountable about finishing.
> 
> Fic and chapter titles borrowed from OAR and their song 'I Go Through.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Brienne learns that Jaime's still alive after all.

It seems that Winterfell is barraged by news, ravens coming in such rapid succession that Brienne and her lady experience a bit of whiplash. _Missandei, executed_ . Then _Jaime, captured_. That one catches Brienne’s attention more than she cares to admit, but she hardly has time to dwell on it before there are even more ravens.

 _The city, burned_ . _Cersei, dead beneath the Red Keep_. It says nothing of Jaime, and Brienne spares a thought for whether or not he’s still alive, whether being captured kept him from the very death by his sister’s side that Brienne had begged him not to run to.

Sansa, of course, is focused on other matters. She’s pondering whether she needs to gather any remaining troops she can find, maybe even call on Tormund and the wildlings, to go South and take the throne that Daenerys Targaryen has won with fire and blood. She doesn’t want it for herself, Brienne knows, but she doesn’t want it in the hands of someone who does not deserve it.

After all the news they have received, it almost seems as if the Dragon Queen is _worse_ for the kingdom than Cersei herself was. But they barely even have time to raise their banners before a raven with news of Daenerys’s death at the hands of Jon Snow comes instead.

There is a collective sort of relief, even with Jon and Tyrion as prisoners. At least they are _alive_ . At least they have a _chance_.

Brienne says nothing of the lack of mention of Jaime. She can only assume it means he’s _not_ alive, and she has already mourned for him, has been mourning for him since the moment he fled Winterfell.

Still, she allows herself to mourn just a _bit_ more, and then they are called South, to decide what to do about the Unsullied and the crown and the “traitors” held prisoner in the South, and there’s time for mourning no more.

* * *

 

Decisions are made, and Brienne is loath to admit that she finds each more baffling than the last.

Bran Stark, who has told them time and time again that he is something different now, is chosen as the king. The North and the North alone is allowed to remain independent, though Brienne wonders _why_ it is necessary, when her lady’s family will now rule in the South.

Tyrion is forced back into his role as hand of the king, and for all that Brienne supposes she _likes_ Jaime’s brother, she’s not quite sure that he’s done much to demonstrate he is competent in such a role.

Jon Snow, on the other hand, is forced into exile, and it makes her stomach twist into knots. She thinks of Jaime then, for the first time able to do so without tears pooling in her eyes. The way that he killed Aerys for the good of the kingdom comes to mind. Hasn’t Jon Snow done the same thing, killing Daenerys? His punishment seems unjust, but she finds it is not her place to question it.

And then there is the most baffling thing of all. For all that Brienne has laid her life on the line to protect Sansa Stark, she is released from her service.

“The North is safe now. _I_ am safe now,” her lady assures her, but Brienne’s chest feels heavy, and she wonders if she’s done something wrong, to be dismissed like so. It’s as if Sansa can sense her thoughts, clutching her hands and assuring her, “You have served me with honor. You have _saved_ me, more times than I can count. But Stark men do not fare well in the South, Ser… please, say that you’ll serve my brother now instead. Had my mother known he was alive, she would have included protection for him in her ask of you, I am sure of it.”

And so, Brienne finds herself a member of King Bran’s kingsguard -- the head of it, in fact. She refuses to call him _the Broken,_ though Tyrion’s name for him seems to have caught on among her constituents.

It’s all that she had dreamed of -- being a knight, serving a king that she believes in, despite her early confusion at him being chosen above all others. And still, she doesn’t feel complete. She thinks mayhaps, there will always be a hole in her now, a hole that could only be filled by someone she can never have there to fill it.

Or so she _believes_ . And then one day, Jon Snow has headed towards his exile, the Stark girls have headed home, the Unsullied have sailed away… and King Bran gets that _look_ in his eyes, the one where he knows something, and he states simply that _after is now_.

The words mean nothing to Brienne, but they seem to resonate with Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos, and when Davos says he’ll _bring back Ser Jaime at once_ , Brienne thinks she has misheard. It’s only Podrick’s concerned eyes, cast in her direction, that convince her she’s heard correctly, and her emotions are barely contained as she asks, “Do you mean to tell me that _Ser Jaime is alive_?”

* * *

The answer to her question, it turns out, is a resounding yes. _But if the Unsullied had wanted Daenerys’s lover dead for what he’d done, imagine what they might have wanted from a man who killed her father, then betrayed his daughter. Trying to save Cersei and his unborn child, it was treason, there was a reason no one could know._ Tyrion had shuddered when he’d said as much to her, and then had gone on to recount that Jaime had been too weak to defend himself, too close to death when they’d found him, and well…

It’s all a lot of _words_ to Brienne. Her heart pounds as she wonders what to do with this new information. She’s _just_ made peace with him being gone, just finally allowed herself to let go, and now she has to actually face him once more?

She doesn’t know how to make sense of it. She paces her quarters, knowing that at _some_ point she’d thought of what she’d say when she saw him again, but they seem to elude her now. She goes to the practice yards to try and clear her head, but her sword hand is so accustomed to holding Oathkeeper, to a gift from _him_ , that she cannot think clearly.

Does he even _want_ to see her? She thinks she can’t have meant all that much to him in the end, if death with his beautiful, cruel sister had seemed better than a _life_ with her.

It is impossible, disentangling her complicated feelings for Ser Jaime Lannister. She is glad he lives, of _course_ she is, but with how he looked at her that night in Winterfell… She cannot be sure that he’s similarly glad of that fact. He had been a man on a suicide mission, and he had made it very clear he didn't want her to save him.

She does not know what sort of reception to expect from him, and she is in turn not sure how she will act once she sees _him_ . Rushing to hold him in her arms would be foolish, when it seemed that was a place he couldn’t escape quickly enough for his liking. Slapping him across the face sounds almost cathartic, but she’s not sure she could ever. And even if she could, he must be suffering enough, with the woman he _really_ loved dead and gone.

 _There’s nothing more hateful than not being able to save someone you love._ Her words, more or less, and well… Jaime had thought he was hateful enough _before_ all that had transpired. No, perhaps she should not inflict her own pain upon him. It would be unbecoming, and Jaime Lannister is far more than just that moment, that culmination of all that had passed between them.

He is more than anyone knows, anyone but _her_ , and it’s only then that Brienne realizes what she can do to help sort her feelings out. Rather than think on him emotionally, she sits down in front of the White Book, and she sets to work completing the pages about Ser Jaime Lannister.

When she finishes his page with _Protected his queen until her last breaths_ , she is feeling much better about things. It all pieces together better, when she writes it down and looks at it as a whole.

Seeing it there in front of her, laid out in black and white, Brienne thinks she should have realized that he would never _really_ be hers. He’d been Cersei’s, reading between the lines of his story made that plain as day. Still, she had wanted him to be, in spite of herself -- but she will be fine. The world is better for still having him walk among the living.

It stings, though, because while he may not have really been hers, she was _his._  Brienne couldn’t imagine herself ever giving herself to someone else so completely again, and Brienne thinks seeing him again will only make her sure that it will  _always_ sting.

But perhaps her reminiscing has made her prepared to let him back into her life, at least, even if she hopes to stalwartly stop him from getting back into her _heart_.

* * *

 

Brienne had not counted on having to re-learn how to be around Jaime Lannister, but that’s exactly what she has to do just a few days later, when he’s brought into the Red Keep, before a meeting of the small council. Brienne’s back is ramrod straight, and she stares straight ahead, deliberately not looking at Podrick or Tyrion. She can feel their curious eyes on her, but she owes them nothing.

She owes _Jaime_ nothing, either, but perhaps she was right to have guessed he wanted nothing from her, because she _knows_ what it’s like to have his eyes on her, and she hasn’t felt them come her direction, not _once_ since he entered the room.

“Ser Jaime,” Bran says, in that level, far-away tone of his.

“I thought you said that would be no after,” Jaime replies, and if his hoarse, pained voice has an effect on Brienne, she doesn’t let it show. She doesn’t focus on the low rumble of it, instead on those odd words again, the mention of _after_ that she doesn’t understand.

Sometimes, she thinks no one understands Jaime Lannister better than she, and then other times she remembers that she really must not have known him all that well after all.

“I asked how you _knew_ there would be an after. The three-eyed Raven cannot tell one what is to come -- if one knows, then everything will change,” Bran replies.

When she’d heard that Jaime was _alive_ , it had been so easy for words to bleed together, for her to fixate on that one thing. Now that Jaime’s _here_ , now that he’s in the room, though, she cannot seem to stop listening. She also can’t steadfastly avert her gaze, no matter how much she’d _intended_ to, and when she takes in the sight of him she almost _gasps_.

He is thinner than she remembers, his hair and beard unkempt, and he seems to have lost much of his muscle mass. His golden hand is _gone_. She still sees the faint outline of bruises on his skin, bruises she for a fleeting moment in time might have pretended to kiss the pain away from…

But that is not _now_ . That is something she is sure will never be again, so she wonders where Ser Davos had hidden him and how he feels about being back _now_ . She rips her gaze away and keeps to her own thoughts, although she notes that he seems less than keen to be here after all. He denies Bran’s offer to join his kingsguard, to go home to Casterly Rock, to do _anything_ , really, as Bran must have known that he would. Finally, Jaime is turned over to Tyrion’s care, and they are all dismissed.

Jaime has not looked at her once in all of this, Brienne is sure of it, and that helps to propel her from her chair. Back straight, chin raised high, she turns to flee from the room as fast as she possibly can.

“Ser Brienne,” she hears his voice call faintly, and she’d not been expecting _that_ , not with the way he’d paid her no mind during the entire council meeting.

She decides to act as if she’s not heard it, and walks resolutely out the door.

 


	2. you go over and under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne expects many things from Jaime when she sees him again, but an apology is not one of them. Unprepared for what he might say, she avoids hearing him out until it seems that she cannot bear to avoid him any longer...

After the council meeting, it seems that Brienne does not see much of Jaime. She hasn’t glimpsed him in the training yards, nor sitting down for a meal; she hasn’t caught sight of him in the castle at all, nor has she heard his voice calling out for her like it did that _day_. In fact, if Brienne didn’t know better, she’d almost think that she’d dreamed the whole thing up -- that Jaime wasn’t alive and well at all.

But he _is_. There’s a spring in Tyrion’s step that wasn’t there before, and there’s a storm in Brienne’s heart where before there was nothing but grief. It was easier to remember her love for him when he was dead, gone, never to be seen or heard from again. It had been comforting to cling to those good moments, to remember his shreds of honor, when she’d thought that their chapter was closed, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Now, though, she feels heavier all the time. Conflicted, unsure what to do. When he was dead, there was never going to be any reunion or explanation. When he was _dead_ , the thoughts of him leaving were easy to forget, because _mayhaps_ he would have come back, and only death had stopped him from doing so. Now, though, she could _ask_ for explanations and answers, only Brienne is not sure that she wants to, because there’s _safety_ in wondering.

(There had been safety in denying she’d ever had any feelings at all, too, but that option had flown out the window the moment he’d knighted her, and the window had been slammed shut after they’d fought the dead and he’d come to her in her chambers. There was no pretending that she’d never loved Jaime Lannister; there was no erasing the chapter of her life that was consumed by him. It’s just that the next chapter… for now, it’s still unwritten, and the moment she seeks him out, the moment she asks what it had meant for him...

Well, then the chapter is written, and everything, her memories, her heart, the course of her life from here on out… it could all change.)

Brienne is not one for being idle, so she fortunately doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. She goes about her days, attending Bran’s small council meetings, commanding, instructing, protecting… And if she seems more alert than usual, like she’s constantly expecting Jaime around every corner, well, no one draws any attention to that fact.

Days are long, and not as hard as they were in war time, but Brienne finds more and more ways to exhaust herself too thoroughly to waste more than a few passing minutes dwelling on Jaime Lannister and where he might be hiding as she falls asleep each night.

* * *

 

When Brienne finally does see him again, it is entirely accidental. Her ‘few minutes of dwelling’ as she falls asleep has turned into tossing and turning into the late hours of the night, and she cannot stand staying in bed with her memories any longer.

She pads through the freshly repaired hallways of the Red Keep towards the training yards, clutching Oathkeeper as if it is a lifeline, keeping her afloat when she might otherwise drown in her thoughts. Brienne thinks she hears movements, and wonders idly if it is Podrick -- she has caught him in the late hours of the night before, training so as to ‘make her proud.’

Brienne steps fully into the yard, bathed in moonlight, and it takes her no time at all to process that the other person who has taken to middle of the night training to ease their mind is _Jaime_ . She would know his stance and his movements anywhere, and his body has filled out some since she saw him last. He looks less like the shadow of a man that he was when he’d been brought back from his exile, and more like the man she’d known so well -- _too_ well, really, in the end, but somehow not well enough to know he’d _leave_ at the same time.

She furrows her brow, noting that he’s using neither a training sword nor Widow’s Wail, then turns on her heel to go before he can spot her.

Except she had hesitated just a moment too long, drinking in the sight of him, and his eyes lock on her as he calls out tentatively, “Ser Brienne.”

She stops in her tracks at the sound of it. A part of her wants to walk away; she had been strong enough to do it the last time, after all. But then, there had been noise, and a crowd, and it had been easier to shrug off as if she’d truly not noticed.

Now, there is only them, their swords, and the stars above them. To run now would be cowardice, and he did not knight her for no reason.

“Ser Jaime,” she replies curtly, turning to him and giving him a slight nod. Her back is stiff, her feet feel like lead rooting her to that spot and allowing her to move no closer, and her traitorous heart thumps in her chest.

She remembers his face when he’d gazed upon her in Winterfell, so soft and full of longing as well as something she might have dared to call love. Brienne remembers it when he’d left, too; agonized, loathing, grimly determined.

His face has none of that expressiveness now. His mouth is turned down slightly, like he’s as unsure of himself as she is, but it’s the eyes that really get to Brienne. Jaime’s eyes have lost their light; they are dark, dull, and meet hers for the briefest of seconds before he is casting his gaze downwards, as if he cannot bear to look upon her.

Was she _that_ repulsive to him? She didn’t understand how he could have gone from spending a month by her side, as if naught else mattered but her, to end up _here_ instead. Brienne thinks it might hurt worse than any wound she has ever received, worse than any insult false suitors have hurled her way in the past.

Brienne can’t look at him anymore, either -- can’t stare at the defeated shell of a man that he has become. Rather than down, though, she glances upwards, as if the stars hold some kind of answer for her as to what should come next.

It feels like an eternity has passed in silence, and she wonders if Jaime had merely called out to her out of habit. Or perhaps he had thought she’d stalk off again, and so he’d not actually prepared anything to say.

Only, she glances back his direction, and his mouth is gaping open, as if he has is trying and failing to get words out. Brienne swallows hard, wondering what he could possibly say that is so difficult for him to utter. Does he feel the need to explain to her again why his choice was always going to be Cersei, no matter what she had done? Or does he care to explain to her how he survived? Maybe he’s going to tell her where he’s been hiding these past weeks, or mayhaps it will be something else entirely.

Brienne finds that she is sick of waiting. She has done nothing but wait with bated breath since she found out that he is alive. She has stood on eggshells as she awaits the verdict of what he will mean to her now, in this chapter of her life.

“Do get on with it, Ser,” she finally snaps, though her voice is less harsh than she’d expected it to be.

Jaime’s eyes show sign of life then, though she dare not try to read whatever that emotion that had flitted in them _was_. It’s no use, anyway; he blinks, and it is gone.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” Jaime begins, and Brienne’s heart goes the opposite route. Rather than pounding, she feels it stop in her chest, because all this time, she has imagined _excuses_ for his behavior, justification, maybe even a glossing over it as if their parting is of no importance and they need not discuss it all.

An _apology_ is not something she has considered, and she’s not sure she’s ready to hear what, precisely, he is sorry for. A part of her that she’s not proud of is still too angry, too betrayed, but she knows that if she lets him speak, the walls she has carefully constructed around her heart will be chipped away, slowly at first but then all at once.

She is not ready for it, and so she shakes her head. “You owe me no such thing,” she lies, and he looks dumbstruck. Brienne uses the moment of silence to her advantage, adding, “I should return to my chambers, Ser. I have much to do in the morning.”

Brienne vanishes back into the Red Keep without saying a proper goodnight, and this time she really _does_ move too fast to hear that he has called after her again, his voice pleading for her to _stay_.

* * *

 

Brienne surmises that Jaime is still staying in the Keep with Tyrion, but when she does not see him again in the days after they have encountered each other, she supposes that he must only leave his quarters at night.

Her heart aches for him, thinking that he must be terribly lonely -- and then she scoffs at herself for the way that his well-being always creeps to the forefront of her mind. Even after all this time, even with all the pain she still carries with her, Brienne _loves_ him, and wishes for his happiness. Wishes for him to find a happiness that he _evidently_ could never truly find when he was with her.

Except… maybe he had found it. His claim that he owed her an apology gnaws away at her, and Podrick notices that she is not herself. He tries asking, but Brienne wishes to never relent and tell him all that is on her mind.

Her former squire doesn’t stop trying, though. He works with her side-by-side as they go through the daily routine of the kingsguard, he takes meals with her, and before she heads to her own chambers each night, he asks if there is anything she would like to unburden herself from, or anything that he can do to provide her some comfort. Brienne remains strong in the face of Podrick’s kindness for only so long, before one night, she finally allows herself to confide in him.

Podrick grabs them two glasses and some wine, though he knows that she rarely drinks. Brienne thinks she might indulge a bit, to loosen her tongue as she finally confesses to Podrick the thoughts that she can no longer cope with on her own. The words that tear her mind apart.

The hour of the evening creeps later as they drink in the hall alone, the firelight flickering as Brienne stares into it. It is much easier than looking at Podrick’s sympathetic gaze, after all.

Brienne speaks for longer than she should; she sounds silly and girlish to her own ears, but Podrick’s murmurs of encouragement or understanding keep her going until her tale is through. She takes another deep sip of her drink -- she has not had enough to feel it, but it’s certainly more than she has had in a long time, and she wonders if Podrick’s response to her worries will sober her up or have her diving into the cup harder.

He has just opened his mouth to speak, but the opening of a door makes a sound before his voice ever has a chance to. Tyrion toddles into the room, Jaime and Bronn not far behind him, and while the Hand of the King and the sellsword look jovial, Jaime is less so. The weight of the world that has been on his shoulders since last she _truly_ spoke to him is still there, yet she cannot tear her eyes away from him.

After seeing him only the once in all these weeks, it feels strange that he should be out and about. The hour is late, but not so late that the rest of the castle sleeps, and Brienne starts to feel as if all the speaking of him she has just done summoned him to this room.

Which is preposterous. All of this -- the tiptoeing around, the overthinking, _all_ of it is preposterous, and Brienne wishes that she could simply go back to the version of herself that focused on her work and did not let herself be distracted by such fancies as _emotion_.

She shoots up from her chair, looking pointedly at Pod as she says, “We were just leaving.”

But Podrick, who has oftentimes _acted_ like he is her squire still though he is now a full knight, contradicts her. He is still softspoken, his voice still kindly, but he says, “My lady -- _Ser_ \-- no we weren’t.”

Tyrion looks positively delighted by Podrick’s words, saying, “Marvelous! Then you’ll have to join us in a little game.”

Brienne moves to leave still, but Bronn steps in front of her path of retreat, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back into her chair. She is stronger than he is, of course she is, but she is too startled by the events of the last minute to stop him. Jaime, for his part, looks just as uncomfortable as she feels, but slides quietly into a chair besides Tyrion as they form a circle.

It’s an uncomfortable fivesome, one Brienne would rather not be a part of, but Podrick looks disappointed in her as her eyes dart towards the door. She has a feeling that if they hadn’t been interrupted, he would have been urging her to _stop_ avoiding Jaime, and to just _hear_ what he has to say.

But perhaps this grouping can be a baby-step towards that. Perhaps she does just need to sit tight, take advantage of her slightly loosened-up state, and just bear whatever the next minutes have to offer.

It is settled, then; Brienne will stay, she will try to treat Jaime neither hot nor cold, but create some sort of lukewarm, tentative in-between for them. She thinks that it might be easy, with all eyes on her, to be polite and _start_ to forge a peace between them.

And then she is not so sure, as Tyrion ensures all their cups are filled and announces with mischief in his eyes, “I believe you remember a little game that we played back in Winterfell?”

Brienne’s stomach is in knots. _As if she could ever forget_.

She means to glance towards the door, but instead her eyes find Jaime. This time, he’s not looking down, up, or sideways. He’s looking straight towards her, his expression unreadable.

Brienne doesn’t want that anymore. She doesn’t want the uncertainty, she doesn’t want the gnawing feeling of not _knowing_. So while a part of her hates the game, dreads what it might bring… the other part of her buckles down, thinking it might be a way to get answers without having to reveal how vulnerable she really feels.

In a far-away voice that barely sounds like her own, Brienne asks Tyrion, “Who shall go first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to get up, you guys! I wrote the first bit right before I went on an 8-day vacation, and I've spent the week since I returned playing catch-up on life. I'm really excited to get the rest up for you guys, though, especially now that I've gotten to the drinking game itself. Hope you enjoy, and if there are any specific topics you want to see addressed during the game, be sure to let me know in the comments!


	3. i go through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose lips sink ships...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry it’s taken me a hot minute to get this chapter up, guys! My goal with my stories is about one chapter per week, but I have a friend in town visiting at the moment so my attention’s been on her instead of writing. (And not going to lie, this chapter was a little intimidating for me - I didn't want to let anyone down after so much buildup to the game itself. Hopefully it was worth the wait! Can’t wait to wrap this up soon :) 
> 
> Not beta'd but I will fix any mistakes later! Just didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too much longer.

Tyrion explains the rules again for anyone who’s forgotten -- as if Brienne could  _ ever _ . He’s even tweaked them slightly; you can make guesses about the person you’re addressing directly, or you can make a statement about something you yourself have never done, in an attempt to make more people drink at one time.

Even  _ with _ the new rules, Brienne is on edge, wondering just how targeted these questions are going to be.

Bronn volunteers himself for the honors of asking the first question --  _ of course _ he does. From what Brienne has seen of the new Lord of Highgarden, he’s happiest when he’s taking every opportunity to make people feel uncomfortable, the Lannister brothers in particular.

It takes less than one turn for her to regret the situation she has found herself in. Brienne’s past relationship with Jaime makes her collateral damage, and even when the question’s  _ not _ directed towards her, it seems to serve as a constant reminder that they were once something that they’ll never get to be again.

Brienne had thought it would stop hurting, someday. So far, that someday has not come, and her chest tightens as Bronn gets the game going.

“I’ve never slept with someone  _ taller _ than me,” Bronn says, looking at his cup almost mournfully. She already knows that, if they’re following the rules, at least, Jaime and Tyrion will both be drinking. And if Jaime doesn’t drink, well, Brienne thinks the denial of what passed between them would cut even deeper than acknowledging it and trying to move past it has been cutting, so she keeps her eyes focused on Bronn -- her first mistake of many, really. 

“Care to help me fix that?” he asks wickedly, wagging an eyebrow at her, and distantly, she hears Jaime nearly choke on his drink. 

She will not acknowledge his reaction. She will not overthink it.

Thankfully, Tyrion barks out a laugh and Podrick’s name, and Brienne turns to see her squire drinking as well. Bronn and Tyrion are clearly both intrigued, but she informs them that they don’t  _ all _ need the sordid details, and to save them for their own time. They’re forcing her to play this wretched game, after all; she just wants to get on with it and get it over with. Lingering on every detail they learn throughout the course of the evening will have quite the opposite effect.

“You’re no bloody fun, you know that?” Bronn snarked, and  _ gods _ , how do Jaime and Tyrion stand to have this man around? Brienne is decidedly not a fan; he’s crass as Tormund but without the good intentions behind him that the wildling had had. “Maybe a few more drinks and I’ll understand what the hell he sees in you,” he muttered.

_ Saw in me _ , Brienne wants to correct as she decidedly stares at Tyrion. It’s easier than glancing at Jaime, than seeing if he reacts to Bronn’s words at all -- and she doesn’t want to know if he still sees something in her or not. It’s the past; it hadn’t been enough to make him want to stay when the first opportunity to run to Cersei had presented itself. If Jaime is looking at her like  _ that _ again, it would only be because his sister is gone, and there’s nowhere better to look.

“You were born on an island,” Tyrion says smugly, his gaze locked on Brienne’s. She takes a long sip of her drink, wondering why he’s gone and stated something so  _ obvious _ . But then, Brienne supposes that the nuances of games such as this one are lost on her, especially now when her heart’s not at all in it. Perhaps he’s just trying to get her drunk as Bronn had suggested; mayhaps she should be grateful that he’d rather see her properly smashed than try to dig at what she’s feeling underneath the surface.

And she’s feeling  _ so much _ . Much more than she wanted to feel, as the responsibility of a statement falls to  _ Jaime _ and Brienne decides avoiding gazing at him is more awkward than just  _ looking _ .

He’s devastatingly handsome, even though his eyes still look hauntingly hollow. Brienne quelches her normal urge to help  _ take _ that pain away, because she doesn’t  _ owe _ him that anymore. She’d really  _ never _ owed him that, but she’d wanted to protect him, and defend him. It was what was right.

And it was before he’d ever given her any reason  _ not _ to want to. 

Jaime swirls the liquid in his glass around, looking at it rather than at her. She’s felt his eyes on her during the other rounds, though; she’ll never forget what having his gaze trained on her feels like. Perhaps he can only bear to look at her when she’s not looking back, though; perhaps he really  _ does _ have the decency to feel sorry for what he’s put her through.

“I’ve never been knighted by anyone in this room,” he finally said carefully, and she thinks he might look up to see her drink. He doesn’t, though, and Brienne thinks she almost believes herself when she decides she’s  _ not _ disappointed that he looks at Podrick instead.

_ Almost _ . She doesn’t want to care what he thinks or feels, not after all this time, but she can’t avoid it, and as she takes another sip she sees something akin to  _ pride _ on his face as he watches Podrick drink.

“Please tell me Ser Brienne knighted you and not Bronn. I’d hate to think of what he might have added on to your ceremony,” Jaime chuckles lightly, and  _ oh _ . It’s the first time Brienne has seen any kind of hint of amusement in his eyes since he came back from the dead, and it makes her feel warm inside even still. He’s been barely more than a ghost these first few weeks back, to where sometimes it felt like the man she loved  _ did _ die in the ruins of the Red Keep, in spirit if not in actuality.

But he’s still  _ in _ there, somewhere, underneath all the pain that he wears on his sleeve, and Brienne hates the conflicted emotions that roar inside of her as her traitorous mind thinks that  _ her _ Jaime is still alive.

“I wouldn’t have let any other,” Podrick replies, his voice not unkind but not as warm as it typically is, either. Brienne supposes she’s not the only one who hasn’t been able to let go completely of what Jaime has done, his cowardly departure in the middle of the night in Winterfell. It makes her ache with affection for her former Squire -- Jaime left her, Sansa released her, but Podrick remains steadfastly in her corner.

He turns the line of questioning away from her, too, making some innocuous comment about Bronn to ensure someone else drinks for a change, too. Brienne follows suit, because it’s a rare evening where she and Podrick have gotten a head start on the drinking front, and she may be large but even she can’t hold herself in after she’s had enough from the cup.

She doesn’t want to get to that point, but of course Bronn and Tyrion seem insistent. They use their turns to make things personal, always trying to pick on her or Jaime directly, though at least they steer away from emotion-driven asks for now. It stings, as they make them drink for having fought in a bear pit, or killing White Walkers, or having Valyrian steel swords. There are memories underlying each of the comments that are now tainted, in a way. But Brienne takes drink after drink, glad they are only making her head lighter and not directly targeting her  heart.

_ Not yet _ , she should have thought. Because of course after three rounds have passed and everyone’s tongues seem looser, the line of questioning changes, too. Brienne is for once glad the drink has made her numb, because as the fifth round of the game begins, the tide starts to shift. 

She almost doesn’t notice it at first, because the two men who are the instigators of this don’t know her well at all. Podrick knows her, but Podrick would  _ never _ . And Jaime… Jaime’s getting a bit more boisterous with drink, but he still seems tentative around her. Brienne won’t think on how odd that is, though; even when they loathed each other, he’d never stopped speaking his mind around her. Jaime being so guarded, so physically close but so mentally far away, isn’t something she’s used to.

She’ll get used to it, though. Brienne  _ has _ to get used to it, because she’s still so sure they can’t go back, and it seems it’s the only way to move forward.

“ _ You’ve  _ made heart eyes at a bloody island,” Bronn says to Jaime, scoffing at whatever this memory that Brienne has never heard about is. Tyrion snorts, his wine making everything  _ exceedingly _ hilarious to her. Brienne’s not as good at training her face to stay neutral as she was an hour ago, and she supposes her eyes go wide with confusion, because Jaime ducks his head and Bronn guffaws at her expression. 

“Care to take a guess which one?” the Lord of Highgarden asks her, but Brienne doesn’t care to at all. Her heart thumps uncomfortably fast for a moment, because  _ do they mean Tarth _ ? Context clues would indicate they do, but she can’t imagine why… or how…

Her head hurts too much if she thinks on it. Her heart is liable to start hurting, too, so instead she makes her own statement, ignoring the fact that it’s out of turn.

“I’ve never wanted to tried to kill anyone in this room,” she says, wondering if the rumor that Bronn had found his way North towards Jaime and Tyrion on Cersei’s orders was true. She’d heard it all so second-hand; through Sansa, who’d heard it from Tyrion, but she’s drunk enough now to be curious.

Bronn drinks proudly, like it’s absolutely normal to try to off two of the people he’s supposedly closest to in the world. Jaime drinks as well, and Tyrion, and none of that is particularly surprising.

What  _ is _ surprising is that Podrick drains the rest of his cup, and it’s  _ bewildering _ to see Jaime smile at that. “I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t wanted me dead, Ser Podrick,” he says, raising his own glass in a mock-toast.

“Why should you assume he wanted to kill  _ you _ ?” Brienne blurts out, not meaning to ask. She’s getting close to wanting to kill Bronn, too, why shouldn’t Podrick’s sip mean the former sellsword?

But Podrick just claps a hand on her shoulder, smiling fondly. “He’s right, my lady. He would have deserved it,” he says, and Brienne’s cheeks flush red.  _ Oh _ . Even when the question isn’t meant to humiliate her and drag up her hurt feelings, it manages to. They can all read what’s between the lines -- that Podrick saw Brienne mourn for Jaime’s absence, for his death, and  _ that’s _ why he thinks the man across from them deserved to die.

It makes a lump form in her throat, though, because she’d  _ never _ wanted Jaime dead. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Him leaving her for someone more beautiful, someone his life had always been intertwined with, someone carrying his  _ child _ … that alone she could have lived with. But it was how ready Jaime was to go and  _ die _ , to throw himself away no matter how much she loved him and ached for him to  _ live _ …

Not being able to protect someone she loved had nearly ripped Brienne apart from the inside. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been at his side like she had been when she’d failed Renly; she’d thought Jaime had died despite her best efforts to stop him, and it made her feel as hateful as he’d claimed to be on that night when he’d ridden away. 

Podrick is not so far gone that he can’t sense her discomfort, and he quickly takes a turn as well, giving Brienne a reprieve. “You think King Bran’s creepy!” he says to Tyrion quickly, and the younger Lannister laughs heartily as he drinks. 

“I’d hope  _ everyone _ in this room finds King Bran creepy from time to time,” he admits, getting up and hobbling around the circle, filling their cups with more wine that they don’t all  _ want _ . “But his  _ creepier _ abilities, as you’ve so eloquently put it, keep us safe, so I suppose we should all be grateful.”

Brienne remembers the last time she tried to refuse Tyrion’s refill, when Jaime’s hand had clutched at hers and moved it away. It’s much less of a comfort when Pod moves it for her this time, encouraging her to keep going. 

For all the conflicting emotions inside of herself, Brienne doesn’t think she’d get up and leave at this point, anyway. It may be embarrassing, it may be uncomfortable… but Jaime’s smile outweighs that. The fact that he still  _ can _ smile, after he lost the woman he actually loved and the child that grew inside of her… 

Brienne still wants him to be happy, dammit. Her alcohol-induced brain is willing to let down the walls and admit what she always knew deep down was the truth. She hopes he finds the kind of happiness he’d apparently had with Cersei with someone else again someday, and when that day comes she’ll do her best not to be bitter that that person wasn’t her.

The game isn’t organized as it once was; they’re all speaking out of turn, worried that if they don’t get their words out as soon as they think of them, they won’t be able to remember them at all when their turn arrives. Tyrion speaks next, fixing another pointed glare at Jaime.

“ _ You _ asked King Bran to be sent to the Night’s Watch to rot with Jon Snow,” Tyrion states matter-of-factly, and the looseness that Brienne’s body has found fades. She is tense, puzzled, and only one word seems to echo in her mind --  _ why?  _

She had thought she’d known Jaime so well, but Bronn and Tyrion are making her realize she hadn’t. She doesn’t know if it makes her feel worse or better -- if she hadn’t known the real him after all, then she’s a fool for assuming she had. But it also makes his slights, his departure, all the more understandable. Jaime had been chasing the woman who  _ did _ understand him, and…

Her thoughts are cut short by Jaime, but she is glad for it. They’ve been driving her mad for too long, anyway, and that’s  _ with _ a clear head. 

“Snow  _ saved _ the kingdom and they hated him for it,” Jaime points out blandly. His voice changes into something twisted and self-loathing as he said, “I did something far more hateful, and yet you keep me here.”

So he would be gone, if it had been up to him. The King and his Hand are the only reasons that Jaime is still here.  _ Good _ . The apology he’d tried to give her weeks ago had made her wonder if…

Wondering if he was here for her was the stupid, hopeful thinking of a fair maid. That wasn’t Brienne. It had never been Brienne, and she looks forward to tomorrow, when she’ll be better able to bury those thoughts again. She doesn’t think she likes them being uncaged now, and all the odd statements being made about Jaime are giving them too much freedom to roam and go unchecked.

The game is still going on around her, and Brienne tries to focus on it, she really does. But more and more, the words wash over her like white noise, and her eyes drift towards Jaime.

“I’ve not written someone’s White Book entry yet,” Podrick offered to the conversation, his tongue loosened by drink as he continued, “But I can’t wait to, my entry’s going to put your entry about Ser Jaime to  _ shame _ , my Lady Ser.”

He looked so pleased with himself, so genuinely excited at the prospect, that Brienne downs the rest of her drink before she can chastise him. She doesn’t know if Jaime has  _ been _ to see the White Book. She’d thought, that day when she’d written in it, that it had given her clarity about the things he’d done and  _ why _ , but… it doesn’t feel so clear anymore, not now. Emotions cloud logic, and she supposes this is why King’s Guard take the vows that they do.

What would her king think of her, if he knew that a pesky thing like  _ love _ was seeping in anyway, despite her duty?

She shuddered a little, because he probably already  _ knew _ . There were no secrets where Bran Stark was concerned; he’d probably realized Brienne’s tangled mess of emotions before she’d even been willing to admit them to herself.

She turns back to the circle, deciding that the next question  _ has _ to be less unsettling than thinking on King Bran and what he does or doesn’t know… 

Except the next question doesn’t come. At least, not immediately -- and when it does come, it’s not a part of the game at all.

Bronn, Tyrion, and Podrick all stare at Jaime, who has eyes only for Brienne. They look almost misty, and she wonders if he’s simply so drunk that his eyes are wet, or if that’s genuine emotion leaking out from him.

“You finished my page for me?” he asks, his voice so tender that Brienne feels as if he’s just laid himself bare for the whole room to see. She fears her own words would drip with love if she admits it out loud, so instead she just gives him one curt nod of her head, then ask, “Who’s turn is it?”

_ Why _ did she say that? Brienne doesn’t even like the bloody game, but she doesn’t like how Jaime’s looking at her, either. So soft, so like he was in Winterfell -- it makes her head spin more than it’s spinning already, and she can’t make sense of it. Doesn’t  _ want _ to make sense of it, not when the other three men in the room are watching their back and forth with entirely too rapt of attention.

“I’ll fucking go,” Bronn says, eliciting a groan from everyone but Jaime, who’s still staring at her, shell-shocked. She can feel his eyes even when she looks away, back at Bronn and his devilish smile as he says, “Never have I ever wanted to marry a  _ knight _ .”

This one has to be an attack on her, because Brienne would have  _ gladly _ married one that was worthy of her, even  _ before _ she’d realized what she felt for Jaime. She’d dreamed of brave and chivalrous men, not saving her but keeping up with her, roaming with her, protecting the innocent with her.

With Jaime, though, the dreams had been so much more concrete. She knew what it was like to be with him, to see the world with him, to fight beside him. The images of a married life had been so blindingly vivid that she’d almost thought it could be a real possibility.

But then he’d left, and she was sure he’d never wanted the same things as her at all.

Only she hears movement from where he sits, her eyes flit back towards him… and Brienne could  _ cry _ , because he’s drinking, too. She’s not the only one sipping from a recently refilled cup, and she wants to ask  _ how dare he _ . How dare he confuse her heart and give her a strange hope that she’d tried so hard to quash? 

How could there still be a part of her that wants that life so badly, when she’s not sure she can ever even trust him again?

Brienne is back to wishing this game would end. She’s sure she’ll go back to her room and toss and turn all night, rehashing it in her mind until she has to rise and carry on with her day, exhausted in both body and soul.

Or perhaps she’ll rise to find that she’d been asleep this whole time, and this strange, hurtful game had just been a fever dream. Maybe all of this was in her head.

But then Bronn’s at it again, and he’s laughing wickedly as he says, “Never have I gone on a bloody suicide mission all because I wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love.”

It has to be directed at Jaime; most of his japes  _ have _ been, and yet this one hurts the most. The fleeting hope that there was still something in his heart for her that had come with the marriage question vanishes, and Brienne squeezes her eyes shut. When she does, all she can picture if Jaime, clutching onto Cersei as rocks fell; Jaime, trying to protect the one he loved most and failing; Jaime, opening his eyes and wishing that he’d gone onto the next life with his beloved twin.

Why did he  _ survive _ ? Brienne thought the world had been cruel to her, but maybe it has been crueler to this man she loves in spite of it all. She’s idly thought before that he might have preferred to die than to carry on without the former queen, but it isn’t until he takes a drink at Bronn’s words that she knows it for sure.

_ Gods _ , why does Brienne long to have the uncertainty back again? Knowing it is too much. This game is  _ too much _ .

Finally, she shoots out of her chair, like she’s wanted to all evening. Her back is less straight than it had been before the alcohol, her flimsy excuses for why she needs to leave are incoherent -- she just needs to go, and she marches towards the door as quick as her wobbly legs will carry her.

“Brienne,” a voice pleads from behind her. No  _ Ser _ this time, just Jaime’s voice, sounding desolate and overly familiar.

She slips through the door, the scene all too familiar. The small council room, the courtyard… It has happened before. She has left, and he has let her.

Except she hears footsteps behind her this time, and she doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that this time, he has followed after all.


	4. he goes through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Brienne stops running away and allows Jaime to tell her what has been on his mind.

“Brienne,” Jaime calls after her again, and his voice echoes throughout the corridor. He only has to say her name the once for it to reverberate through her, to feel as if he’s calling after her again and again.

She can’t do this. She is not ready to talk to him about Cersei, to talk to him about why he left, to talk to him about  _ any _ of it. Maybe she will be, when she’s sober and they have not just played that  _ awful _ game, but that time is not now. Right now, she feels torn open, like all the wounds inside of her that she’s been trying to bandage are as fresh and raw as they were the moment they were inflicted, and she’ll say something she’ll regret, she knows she will. 

Or she’ll cry. Brienne  _ hates _ to cry, and he’s already seen it once. It’s not something she fancies letting Jaime see again. 

Brienne wants nothing more than to pretend the last hour or so hasn’t happened, to ignore all of the feelings that have been dredged up. And yet, despite her desire to escape, to put this all behind her and act as if none of it has transpired, her legs betray her. They are like lead, heavy and unwilling to move, and she freezes in the hallway.

She doesn’t turn to meet him, but she cannot leave him behind either. Not when Jaime’s voice is that soft, desperate plea that she’s only heard on the rarest of occasions. 

Not when she so craves the answers she pretends not to want to hear.

“Jaime,” she replies hoarsely. It’s not what Brienne meant to say; she meant to address him more formally, as  _ Ser _ or anything else that might have helped to put distance between them. She’s worn the formality like it’s armor, but she’s not a strong warrior right now. Her voice cracks on his name and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. Like maybe if she closes them to the world, she’ll open them up and they won’t actually be standing here, in a hallway in the middle of the night, both a little drunk and more than a little emotional.

The last time she’d actually stopped and addressed him, he’d stared at her in shock, completely tongue tied. This time, the look he gives her is more reverent. He seems almost in awe, and Brienne hates it. She hates that it feels so like his dazed affection for her at Winterfell, because  _ why _ ? Why would it, when he’d just admitted that he’d wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved and that woman had been  _ Cersei _ ?

Brienne had known he cared for her, of course he did -- they had been through too much together for there to be no emotion there at all. But she’d deluded herself into thinking perhaps his affection for her had grown into real love, that perhaps that bond he’d shared with his sister for so long had actually been broken. She’d thought that he wanted to be a better man, and that he could  _ be _ that with her. 

But she’d been wrong, and Brienne wishes he’d stop staring at her so. Her usual flush creeps up her neck and her cheeks, but she doesn’t  _ want _ Jaime Lannister to have this effect on her. Not anymore, not after what he’s done.

Not when this night has made it painfully clear she still loves him, in spite of everything.

“You’re always walking away,” Jaime says, barely above a whisper. “I know I deserve it, I  _ know _ , but you’re never letting me explain anything, you’re never even letting me  _ try _ .”

For some reason, his voice sounds as cracked as hers had been, and Brienne doesn’t keep her carefully trained neutral face. The drink in her system makes her furrow her brows in confusion, and she knows that the crease in her forehead that accompanies it is ugly. It’s one on a long list of things she’s felt self-conscious for in her life, at some point or another, and she raises a hand to try and rub the wrinkle out.

Just a few short months ago, she wouldn’t have done that around Jaime. She wouldn’t have worried about how she looked around him, because she’d trusted it not to  _ matter _ . Brienne had trusted him to love her, the honorable parts and the good parts and the ugly parts as well.

But he’d loved someone far uglier instead. Someone who may have radiated beauty on the outside, but whose darkness on the inside had consumed him as well.

Brienne doesn’t know what to say in response to that -- it’s not as if she can very well deny it, when she wants to walk away again right now and only the fact that her feet can’t seem to  _ move _ is preventing her from doing so. So she gawks in silence, because what is there to  _ explain _ ? It all feels so painfully clear to her, that she was a second choice, that dying with Cersei was better than living on with her.

Jaime, though, continues to remind her of how he’d been that night in Winterfell, frantic, unable to bear silence for long, because he opens his mouth to continue on, and only then does Brienne finally find her voice.

“I don’t  _ need _ you to explain anything. I don’t want you to explain it, I don’t need to hear what I already know,” Brienne tells him, her voice not nearly as clipped and unaffected as she’d like for it to be. She’s affected, she’s been affected this whole time; it’s just that tonight, she is less able to stoically pretend she is not.

“Yes you do, you don’t understand,” Jaime protested almost instantly, and he brings his one good hand up to rub his eyes. On his other side, he taps his stump against his leg, jittering, unable to stay still, but it’s not his nervous actions that strike her. It’s the fact that he’s still not wearing anything to cover it -- like he left his golden hand behind in the rubble with his sister, and now the thing he’d seemed so ashamed of for so long is there for all to see.

It makes her throat feel too tight to speak again, for reasons she doesn’t understand. All it means is that it was buried under some rocks; it’s not some sign that he’s a different Jaime. And would Brienne want him to be a different Jaime anyway? She’d fallen in love with him, knowing exactly who he was. 

Brienne doesn’t like these racing thoughts of hers. She likes being clear-headed, and calm, but Jaime’s frenetic energy and the alcohol have gotten to her and she can’t slow down her mind.

She wants to snap, to ask him what it is that apparently she doesn’t understand, but before she can ask he is already telling her.

“I came to Winterfell because -- “

They are familiar words, and her stomach twists.  _ I came to Winterfell because… I’m not the fighter I used to be, but I’d be honoured to serve under your command if you’ll have me.  _ She remembers the words well, and of  _ course _ she would have had him, then. Under her command, in her heart, in her bed… She would have had any piece of him he’d been willing to give. 

Brienne doesn’t know if she’d have him now. She doesn’t trust him the way she did then, doesn’t trust  _ herself _ more than that. Jaime had given and she had taken in spades, taken more than had any right to be hers when his sister and her unborn  _ child _ had been waiting for his return. 

Now, there’s no one else for him to give anything to, and Brienne doesn’t want to take just because she’s his last resort. If that’s even what he’s offering -- she doesn’t understand why he’s bringing this up, and she snaps irritably, “We’re not  _ in _ Winterfell, why are you saying this?”

“Fine, I  _ went _ to Winterfell,” Jaime corrects, persistent, determined to get this off his chest before Brienne can leave again and the words forever go unspoken. “I went to Winterfell for you, because of you, I was there for  _ you _ .”

His words come out rushed, but even so, each one hits her clear as day. It feels a lot like what she’s always imagined  _ I love you _ would feel like, only they’d never said that was how they felt in so many words and she’d assumed after he left that they’d never said it because it wasn’t actually true, not for him.

“No,” Brienne rasps, shaking her head. It’s the most she’s managed to get her body to move throughout this whole conversation, and even still it’s almost imperceptible, hardly enough to get the vehemence of her denial across. “No, you came because it was the right thing to do, and you were an honorable man.”

“ _ Were _ ?” Jaime asks, and he doesn’t even try to mask the bitterness in his tone. She imagines it must sting; she’d been one of the few to stand up for him, the few to believe in him, and now it seems that even she doesn’t believe it any longer.

The thing is, though, that she  _ does _ . It had been a moment of selfishness, perhaps, for Brienne to ask him to stay. Maybe if she’d known about the baby at the time, she wouldn’t have -- but there is no shame in wanting to protect the ones you love at their last. In offering them peace, in making sure they don’t pass into the next life feeling utterly alone. It wasn’t the act of going back to Cersei that was dishonorable, it was how he’d made her feel in doing so. The way he’d snuck away in the middle of the night, the self-loathing dripping from him as he’d explained why he needed to go… Those are the things that sting the most. 

She had seen so much good in Jaime, and he had apparently never seen the same in himself. That’s what hurts now, not the memory of him riding away or the cold, empty bed she’d had to sleep in without him once he’d gone. What hurts is that she’d tried so hard to help him see the good in himself, that he’d been worth everything to her and still had thought himself worth nothing. 

Is this what a drunken revelation feels like? 

She wants him to have a good life, she wants him to heal from the things that have happened to him and to find the happiness that has eluded him for so long. She just doesn’t think that happiness can be with her, not after everything has been said and done. 

“Are,” Brienne concedes, ducking her head down to stare at her shoes. She doesn’t want to see his face right now, not if he’s going to look at her in that soft, awed way again. And despite how hard she’s tried to convince herself that she didn’t really know him after all, Brienne thinks she  _ does _ still know him, and she knows that he’ll look at her with so much gratitude and so much hope that she will not know how to deal with what it makes her feel. 

Jaime lets out a breath that she hadn’t noticed he was holding, like that one word has set him free and given him the strength to continue. “It was still because of you,” he tells her softly, tentatively taking a step closer to her. He has kept his distance; he hasn’t moved forward in the slightest since she stopped, almost as if he were afraid that any sudden movement would send her running again. Now he does though, somehow hesitant and sure at the same time, and says, “I… lost my way, as I often do. It was only because of you I remembered what was right. And what Bronn said, back there…”

Brienne visibly tenses. Her memory is short, when she is filled with wine like this, and she’d allowed herself to drift back to Winterfell, to think on that and only that for a moment. Jaime sees the way she closes in on herself, as if his window of opportunity to speak to her is closing, and he steps forward again, less tentative this time, and grasps clumsily at her hand.

“No, no, please just  _ listen _ ,” he urges, and she is sure he would not be so insistent if he were sober. He’s avoided her nearly as much as she’s avoided him, after all -- he’s avoided  _ everyone _ , barring apparently Bronn and his brother. But Jaime who’s been in his cup is the same man who came to her room raving like a lunatic, needing to know if she’d given her maidenhead to someone already or not, and this moment has the same frenetic energy. 

“ _ Winterfell _ was a suicide mission. Fighting the dead was a  _ suicide _ mission. But I was there for you, to fight for  _ you _ ,” Jaime says, clutching her hand desperately. Brienne had been so distracted that she’d actually let him take it, had let the warmth wash over her without a second thought. What exactly had been so important for her to hear had taken precedence over keeping her distance, but now Brienne stares at their linked hands as she lets his words wash over her.

They don’t seem  _ real,  _ Brienne thinks as she watches him squeeze her fingers, not even feeling it. It’s like an out of body experience, seeing a man clinging to her for dear life as if its happening to someone else entirely. 

His words make even less sense to Brienne’s cloudy mind than the fact that they’re touching again, after all this time. The words can’t be  _ real _ , because if Winterfell was a suicide mission, then they weren’t  _ Cersei’s  _ arms Jaime had intended to die in. 

“Speak plainly,” Brienne pleads. She needs him to spell it out for her, because talking in riddles won’t make the pain of his betrayal go away. Clarity, though… clarity might.

“It doesn’t get any plainer than that,” Jaime says, looking hopeless. He’s still playing with her hand, lacing his fingers through hers now for a tighter grip, as if he’s still afraid she’ll let go. And he’s right -- she wants to, because the warmth of them and the reassuring pressure makes it too easy to let hope creep in.

And it has, faster than the swing of a sword, hope has hit her with its full weight. She’s kept him at bay because she felt betrayed, but also because she  _ misses _ him, so much it aches, and she’s able to be honest with herself now, with her mind like  _ this _ , muddled with wine. She knows that if he’d asked, she’d have readily been his second choice, his consolation prize. She has her vows to the kingsguard, she has things that she may not give to him, but her heart is his, and so too might have been anything else he’d wanted from her.

Now, though… now, his words make her swallow thickly and reevaluate all the thoughts she’s had since he’d come back. She knows he can only mean one thing, that the woman he  _ loved _ that he wanted to die with had been  _ her _ , but still, she has to be sure.

“Cersei…” she protests weakly, the word tasting like bile in her mouth. How Jaime could be so irrevocably tied to someone who had done such monstrous things, who had made him feel compelled to act the same… 

He shakes his head, weakly. “Family. She was my family, the child was my family, but she… after my hand, after the wildfire, after  _ you _ …” He heaves a heavy sigh, and Brienne wants to know more, she does. They’ve never really spoken about her openly other than the night he’d left; they’ve left the topic untouched when perhaps they shouldn’t have. “It was never the same,” Jaime finally says, and in spite of herself, Brienne believes him.

“So Bronn spoke of…” Brienne begins, but doesn’t finish. She can tell Jaime is growing impatient, that he thinks she’s avoiding the obvious, but to his credit he does not taunt her as he might have in the past. Instead, he states his answer simply, honestly, and in a way that feels almost as if it has flipped her world back over, set it right after a period where it has felt oh so wrong.

“The woman Bronn spoke of, the one I love, is  _ you _ .”

Brienne knows that her eyes have grown wet, but she lets him hold onto her hand still, rather than raising it to wipe at the moisture.  _ He loved her _ . Like she’d been so sure he had, and then had been so sure he hadn’t -- but he  _ did _ , he  _ does _ , and Brienne’s heart shouldn’t feel as full as it does. Her heart has been so heavy, and there is still so much left unsaid that it has no right to feel light.

Perhaps if he’d said this weeks ago, when he’d first tried, she wouldn’t have believed him. She hardly would have believed him an hour ago, before the game, before talk of the wall and family he’d failed and marriage and dying in the arms of a woman he loves. But now, it makes sense, in its way, and Jaime is looking at her expectantly, pleading for a reaction.

“There would have been too many wights to fight, to stop and  _ hold _ you as you died on the battle field,” Brienne finally tells him, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It’s the sort of thing  _ he _ would have said, once upon a time, and she hopes he appreciates it. She is still too guarded to admit that she loves him, too, and she has her vows to think of, but the length that she holds him at bay with has grown much smaller now. “You would not have gotten your wish.”

“You  _ would _ too have!” Jaime protests, indignant, but his eyes have warmed and his smile is fond, and he looks  _ truly _ himself again, the dark shadow that has been cast over them both for so long ebbing away. She knows perhaps it is the drink that helps him let his guard down, the same drink that she’s been cursing this whole time, but she is glad for it all the same. “You would have fallen to your knees and scooped me in your arms and told me to get up, to keep fighting, and I would have told you that I couldn’t but that I loved you and I hoped that you would be happy, without me.”

His japing tone falters, and he bites at his lip, asking, “Were you? Happier, before I came back? You haven’t seemed… particularly happy, to have me alive.” 

“It… took time,” Brienne admitted. The rules of the game were honesty, weren’t they? And though they were no longer playing, she wouldn’t have put it past Jaime to pause their conversation, grab a flagon of wine, and insist on the truth if she’d tried to say anything different. “It… will all, take time,” she added, and she sees him deflate slightly.

“I understand,” Jaime tells her, though she’s sure he might have hoped for her to say something different. To say that she forgave him, that the past is the past, that his words tonight mean more to her than the months she’s spent hurting.

They don’t, though. Brienne carries her injuries with her wherever she goes; she’s still haunted by her former betrothals, by the men in Renly’s camp, by the cruelty of her youth, even when she knows she has done so much to rise above it.

Jaime is different than those men, but he’d given her reason to think he was no better after all. It is a wound that needs to heal, a trust that needs to rebuild, and she assures him quietly, “But I would like to take that time. So long as you aren’t planning on leaving for the wall anytime soon, that is.”

She wants to make him laugh, to see that smile again. In the past, he’s been so unaccustomed to her rare jokes that he laughs freely at them, but this time, his chest heaves as he breathes deeply. 

“I would like to take that time, more than anything in the world,” he promises her, and suddenly he isn’t shorter than her any longer, he is level with her face, pressed up on tiptoes. Examining her, carefully, tenderly, like she is the most precious thing in the world.

Brienne’s breath catches. She has been here before, she knows what comes next -- and perhaps it is too soon to let him kiss her. Perhaps she should stop him, to tell him that they must work to it gradually, that she does not want this to happen in her current state…

But  _ oh _ , she has missed him and the happy memories they’d made in Winterfell. Reflexively, Brienne’s eyes flutter closed, and her lips pucker, in anticipation of what comes next.

Instead of Jaime’s lips meeting hers, though, what comes next is the sound of the hall door being kicked open, and the raucous laughter of Tyrion, Bronn, and Podrick. 

Brienne springs back from him, letting their intertwined hands drop, and she feels disappointment and relief wrapped up as one. 

Bronn spots them first. Of  _ course _ Bronn spots them first, and he comes over, clapping his hand on Jaime’s shoulder and boisterously asking, “And what the fuck do we have here, ay?” 

_ A new beginning _ , Brienne thinks, though she would never say it out loud. Though she supposes they might not have gotten to this point without the meddling trio before them, she does not want them involved in their business. This tentative peace between them, this agreement to try and move forward, is for her and Jaime only.

“I was just walking Ser Brienne to her room,” Jaime intervenes, looking at her hopefully. She can protect herself on her walk, of course she can, but she appreciates the escape he has provided for them. Bronn whistles, Tyrion’s eyes sparkle, and Podrick looks at her warily, but she shakes her head at him, telling him that she will be fine on her own.

“Which he will  _ not _ be entering,” she clarifies for the lot of them, although once they have left the group and rounded the corner to the next hallway, she  _ does _ allow Jaime to take her hand again.

Brienne doesn’t feel so drunk as she did earlier; time and the difficult conversation they have had has sobered her. Even without the alcohol, though, the feel of Jaime’s left hand in hers is electric, like a spark reigniting something she had thought she’d lost forever.

“May I have some of that time of yours that you mentioned tomorrow?” Jaime inquires, almost nervously, as they reach her door. Brienne twists it open with her free hand, but lingers at the threshold. 

“You may,” Brienne agrees, and perhaps it’s more amicable than he deserves. Perhaps she is putting a faith in him that many will find foolish, but her faith in him has rarely been misplaced before. 

“I’ll see you in the training yard, then,” Jaime says, and Brienne squeezes his hand in agreement at the suggestion. It’s where she feels most comfortable, more often than not, and Jaime is smart enough to realize that if he wants to earn back his spot in her life, it will need to be on her terms.

“Good night, Ser… Jaime,” she says, surprising herself by placing a chaste kiss to his cheek before she retreats into her room.

That night, the moments before she falls asleep aren’t rife with overthinking, or heartbreak. Instead, her thoughts are filled with the image of Jaime’s unbridled smile as her lips had touched his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I had planned to wrap this up in four chapters, but... after writing this, Jaime and Brienne getting their happily ever after this quickly didn't feel earned. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and expect an epilogue at some point that shows them taking their time to find their places in each other's lives again (and including some Creepy!Bran, because I mean SOMEONE has to let her out of her Kingsguard duties...).
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @starksistersftw


	5. she goes through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime begin the slow process of rebuilding their former bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I promised AN epilogue, but my brain maxes out in the 3-5K per chapter range, and I had a few more bullet points still to go once I got to the conclusion of the current chapter. So... you get a two-part epilogue, because I truly do not know how to end a story for the life of me.
> 
> Also, please be warned that this is my first time writing this kind of intimate scene in a fic, so if it's garbage... my bad. I hadn't originally planned to write it out, but fading to black didn't feel right, either.
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes; I wanted to get this posted before I was gone for the the rest of the day and will definitely edit them later!

The next morning, Brienne rises with the sun, and if it weren’t for the slight pounding of her head, she might think that the previous evening had been nothing more than a fever dream. 

She knows this feeling, though; it is rare that she experiences it, but it is certainly the aftermath of having had too much drink, which means that the drinking game — and hopefully what came after — has really happened. 

Her suspicions are confirmed after she has dresses and breaks her fast, when she takes to the training yard. It is her daily routine, to keep herself sharp, to make sure the rest of the Guard is up to snuff, and of late she also uses this time to distract herself from the turmoil in her head and heart. 

But today, the routine differs the moment Jaime Lannister steps into the yard, sword in his left hand. He doesn’t look  _ nervous _ , per se, but he lacks his usual swagger, and beside her Podrick tenses. They’re all unsure of whether this is all right or not; it seems that each of the three of them are frozen, waiting to see if they’ll acknowledge the events of the night prior or if without alcohol in their systems, they would prefer to return to their prior status quo.

Brienne takes the lead, nodding her head, granting Jaime permission to be here, in her presence, training under her command.

The hesitant look on his face morphs into an almost blinding smile, and from that day forward, a new routine is established, one that has him in it. With each passing day, the wary looks from her men lessen, the whispers fade away, and Jaime grows stronger, following her commands, sparring with Podrick when she’s busy and with her when she’s not.

It is a new normal that is much like the old, and though it had seemed impossible mere weeks ago, now, it feels right. 

* * *

Brienne is both flattered and frustrated with the way that Jaime respects her boundaries now. In the first few days after they reach their tentative peace, she sees him only in the training yard, unless she asks him to walk her to wherever she is headed next. It is in these moments they really get a chance to talk, and he’s wittier then, more like his old self, but it’s not entirely the same.

He is not the wrecking ball that he once was, not someone loudly demanding her attention or making jabs to try and get a rise out of her. This new Jaime is more quietly devoted, and Brienne knows that she said to take things slowly, but this is almost  _ too _ slow for her tastes. Now that he is a part of her life again, she doesn’t know how she managed all that time without him, and she thanks the seven that he had not  _ really _ been taken from her for good, not yet.

It takes more than a week of training yard conversations before he finally joins her at her dinner table. Podrick is the one that waves him over, and Brienne realizes in that moment that Jaime has been looking for more than just acceptance from  _ her _ — she may be the primary person he hurt, but despite all odds, Brienne has created a family for herself. Lady Sansa, Arya, Podrick, others that she has trained or protected… they care for her, and coming back, Jaime faces not just her ire but theirs as well. Perhaps theirs even more so than her own.

For the first time since she has been in King’s Landing, she is a bit glad that the Stark girls are not here with her. She doesn’t think Jaime would have stood a chance against  _ their _ anger and suspicion, not when Pod’s is enough to have him hesitating and waiting for permission.

“Are you all right, my lady Ser?” Podrick asks her after dinner is done and Jaime has been ushered away by Bronn. Brienne nods her head, a slight lump in her throat at how much her former squire cares for her, after all they have been through.

“Are you… happy?” he asks her tentatively, and she doesn’t nod her head at that. She still holds back from it, but she’s come so far from where she was.

“I’m getting there,” she assures him, and every meal beyond that, they wave Jaime over, until they needn’t wave any longer, because he comes to know that his place in the hall is wherever they are.

* * *

After a while, Brienne realizes that she and Jaime are  _ beyond _ the normal they had established in Winterfell. There, they were always on the precipice of war, and she was always expected at Lady Sansa’s side while he waited for her time and affections.

Now, it is peacetime, and there is less of a routine. There is still much to do, though, and that is how one day they find themselves walking through the streets of King’s Landing, Jaime overseeing progress of rebuilding on behalf of his brother the hand, and Brienne tasked with accompanying him and keeping him safe.

Brienne suspects Tyrion and Bran orchestrated this on purpose, but she does not mind. She would have volunteered to go on her own, if only to see more of what the city she now lives in is like.

Jaime’s company is just a pleasant, albeit jarring, addition. 

Brienne never realizes just how much they have existed outside of the realm of normalcy until they are strolling through the streets of King’s Landing together. They have been dragged through the countryside, they have been quartered in Winterfell, they have had a hurried meeting in Riverrun — they have even spent stolen moments together in this very city, where the threat of his sister had always loomed and the drive to see Sansa Stark away safely had taken precedence.

Now, there are none of those things. There is only Brienne, and Jaime, and signs of life coming from a city that had just months ago been razed. 

Jaime points out places to her as they walk, ones she hadn’t yet discovered and might never have noticed on her own. It’s a reminder to her that though they’ve come to know the most intimate details of each other, there are still so many  _ other _ details, from their lives before, that are yet to be learned.

But with each day, each moment they spend together, Brienne feels her confidence growing in the fact that they  _ will _ get to learn these things about one another. He will not leave her again; and not just because Cersei and his child are gone, not just because she doesn’t know where else he would go. He won’t leave her again because she will not let him; she is where he wants to be, and she wants him here, for now and for always.

By the time they are back inside the walls of the Red Keep, Brienne blushes slightly to realize that at some point during their walk, she has allowed him to take her hand, and he does not drop it until they are at the doors of her chambers.

The city is full of hope, of new beginning — and so are they.

With that knowledge buoying her, Brienne presses her lips to his for the first time as she bids him farewell for the night.

* * *

It has been nearly two moons of re-learning how to be comrades in arms, friends, and a tentative  _ more _ when she finds Jaime in the White Sword Tower. She performs her King’s Guard duties during the day, while he has informed her that he mostly assists Tyrion in any way that he can and does a bit of extra training on his own. His strength is still not what it was — they both know that it never will be — but it occupies his body and mind, and Brienne is glad that he is out and about rather than skulking around hiding as he had at first.

The sight of him surprises her, and she wonders briefly if he has been ordered here on business by Tyrion, or if perhaps it is an instance where he is a ghost, trying to relive a past life that no longer belongs to him.

Then Brienne sees what page he is looking at.

“It was mentioned —  _ during the game _ ,” Jaime explains, trailing off under Brienne’s surprised gaze. 

“It is the duty of the Lord Commander to keep the Book of Brothers up to date,” she reminds him, although her heart is hammering in her chest. She had written his accomplishments at the peak of her hurt, when she’d realized he was alive but in hiding, when her grief had finally had a chance to ebb into anger.

And yet, even then, the words had painted the honorable side of Jaime Lannister, the side of the man that few but her had ever had the chance to know.

He is staring at her, his gaze soft, awed. “It is more than I deserved,” he protests, tearing his gaze away from her only to look back at the book.

“It is the truth… Jaime,” Brienne disagrees. She stops just short of calling him  _ Ser _ . It would have been fitting, were this truly a discussion of the honor that he doesn’t believe he has anymore, that he hasn’t believed he’s had for quite some time.

But that’s not really what this is about. His surprise is at realizing that she has loved him all along — the words make it clear as day. She would never dishonor herself or her position by stating that which she does not believe. Even when Jaime had broken her heart in two, she had remembered the best of him, and she remembers it more and more with each passing day.

There is a charged look between them, one heavy with emotion, and even heavier with want. He takes a step towards her, leaving the book open on his pages, taking her right hand in his good hand.

“You left off my proudest accomplishment,” he tells her hoarsely, looking up into her eyes. His are startlingly green in that moment, and Brienne feels like she could lose herself in them.

“And what might that be?” she asks. Her heart skips uncomfortably, and she cannot shake the worry that it will be something she does not want to hear. The trust she feels for him is built back up, but it is not implicit, not anymore, not yet, and she prepares herself to draw back should his words hurt her.

When they come, they do quite the opposite.

“Knighting Ser Brienne of Tarth,” he whispers, and this time, he is the one who surges upward to kiss  _ her _ instead. 

Brienne feels a swooping sensation in her stomach, stronger than even on that first drink-laden night in Winterfell. Although there are her vows to think of, they do not forbid her from  _ taking _ a lover to her bed, just from marrying them or bearing them children. All the other obstacles that have stood in their way before — the war, his sister, their differing allegiances — have disappeared, and she could drown in his kiss, here and now, if she permitted herself to.

This tower, though, it is a sacred place, and the kiss remains as chaste as they can muster before they both break away at the same moment. His eyes are blazing, though, and Brienne is sure that hers are the perfect mirror; the need to be closer is easily read on both of their faces.

“Not here,” they say in reverent unison, and Brienne uses their still interlaced hands to lead Jaime in the direction of her chambers.

* * *

The hallway is blissfully empty, as the rest of the Keep goes about their daily routines. Brienne spares a thought for the reasons she had gone to the White Sword Tower in the first place, but it is only a fleeting thought, and it surprises her to find it is her only objection to what is about to happen.

The last of her walls have finally come down, and all her thoughts are consumed by Jaime. It is a wonder they even make it to her chambers; if this were Winterfell, she’s sure he would have tugged her into a dark corner along the way by now

But it is not Winterfell; it is King’s Landing, a place that had always in the past belonged to Jaime and his sister, but not any longer. It is a new place for all of them now, and Jaime is no longer the one taking charge the way he had been in the North; this needs to be on Brienne’s terms, following her lead, and her lead tells her that she has missed the way his body molds against hers more than she could possibly put into words.

So she doesn’t put it into words. Instead, as soon as the door closes behind them, her lips are on his again, hungrier this time, searching for something more than the quiet devotion he has showed her over the past weeks, breathlessly wanting a louder declaration that he is truly still hers, that maybe he always was, even when he was gone.

Jaime obliges; he moans loudly into her mouth, his left hand cupping her cheek, keeping her lips on his, and his stump goes around her waist, pulling her body flush against his chest, which has grown broader from months of training. 

Warmth spreads through her — burning first where he is touching her, then bubbling in her chest, and lastly between her legs. Perhaps Brienne should savor in this moment, one that she never thought to get to experience again, least of all with Jaime, but she is impatient for it instead. She has kept him at bay for so long, and now they are here, wanton and ready.

It is Jaime who breaks the kiss first, though his touch never leaves her. His lips trail over her cheekbone, down to her neck, and his good hand trails to the armor she is wearing. Brienne knows that there is no hope for him to be able to remove it on his own, and she takes a step back, removing it for him.

She does this each day before she retires, but somehow, it feels different now. The practiced movements feel more jittery and rushed; she is not nervous, not as she was that first night, but her body is humming, expectant. Brienne is loath to admit it, because she should be  _ whole  _ without him, dammit, but there is a part of her that has felt like there’s been something missing, and right now with Jaime feels like coming home.

His gaze trails over every curve of her body as she removes first the armor, then her shirt and breeches. Green eyes grow darker with want, and his good hand goes to unlace his own shirt, but Brienne moves it aside. It is less to slow things down — if anything, time cannot seem to move fast enough for her and her hammering heart — and more because she hates to see him struggle with it, no matter how creative his methods for getting it off might be.

Jaime takes the interruption as an invitation to place a hand and a stump on each of her hips, gently guiding her back towards her bed. There’s no need for a roaring fire here like there was in WInterfell, but Brienne still feels like she is roasting under his determined gaze. Her knees hit the mattress, but she doesn’t tumble back with him on top of her, as they have in the past. Instead, Jaime guides her down to a seated position gently, and she is bare before him as he crouches to his knees.

Urgency swells within her, and Brienne thinks for a moment that she should draw him back towards her, disrobe him, and invite him inside of her. Before she can, though, Jaime’s kisses start again, first at her knee, then moving up the insides of her thighs, and any inclination to do anything other than leave him to his ministrations is gone. 

Each brush of Jaime’s lips to the skin between her legs has Brienne coiled with anticipation, and finally, he is so close to her center that she shudders, needing him to stop teasing at her and bring her release. She tugs at his hair, fingers cording through it, and then he is there, his tongue working its way over her folds, and she is gasping his name.

Brienne may be a warrior, but she is still a woman, and she has physical needs. She has tried pleasuring herself in Jaime’s absence, tried deliberately banishing thoughts of him from her mind as she takes care of herself, but it never feels as good. It never feels like this, like her whole body is soaring, and Brienne knows it’s about more than just Jaime’s talent in bed. It’s about  _ him _ , about the fact that he has her heart and she has his, and Brienne lets herself go as his tongue pushes inside of her. HGis thumb finds the bud between her legs, making her writhe, leaving her completely at his mercy.

When she has reached her peak, Brienne is sweat-slicked and short of breath, but she is not feeling any sort of regret. They have come so far, and she knows they still have a ways to go — but she wants this, she wants  _ him _ , and when she finally rises on wobbly legs, she disrobes Jaime. Her fingers trace over every hard line of his chest, over the planes of his stomach, over his cock, and he jerks at her touch, as eager for it as she had been for his. 

This time, they tumble into her bed together, and they do not rise again until the morning, when he slips back to his own chambers before the sun rises, the feel of his tender kiss goodbye lingering on Brienne’s lips. 

* * *

When the King summons Brienne later that day, she first assumes that it’s just another day, another task for the Lord Commander of his Kinsguard. When she finds that she is the only one in his solar, though, Brienne realizes this is something different.

At first, she panics, thinking that he knows what has happened between her and Jaime. Although their emotional connection has been there, this is the first time they have physically crossed the line, and she should have known better than to do such a thing when their king is this strange, omniscient Stark boy. He’s going to dishonorably discharge her from his service, she is sure of it, and she will have to go home to Tarth, shamed and rebuked.

But Bran is…  _ smiling _ , knowingly but also warmly. His face almost reminds her of Lady Arya’s in that moment, a hint of his sister’s mischief in his eyes as he gestures for her to have a seat.

“Do you know why I have summoned you here, Ser Brienne?” he asks her, and she hates this. Brienne knows she is being toyed with, but it feels insolent on her part to be  _ annoyed _ by the king and the way he handles situations like these. Still, she often misses Lady Sansa and her straightforward way of dealing with her.

“No, Your Grace,” she says, shaking her head softly, and he prods, “Are you  _ sure _ ?”

Brienne wants to sigh, but she has to show more respect for her king than that, so she grits her teeth before managing an answer. “Does this have to do with Ser Jaime, your Grace?” she asks, not seeing any other reason whys he would be called here  _ today _ . Nothing else has changed since yesterday, except for the fact that she and Jaime are one step closer to what they were in Winterfell now.

“Only if you’d like for it to have to do with Ser Jaime,” Bran replies, glancing away from her, out the window, as if he is somewhere far, far away.

Brienne does not let her frustration at his puzzling words show. Instead, she folds her hands in her lap, waiting for Brandon Stark to continue.

“The oath of the Kingsguard is a bit outdated, don’t you think? Never being married, never having children, never being able to leave service, even if you are old or sick or simply if your king is no longer worth serving…”

Brienne freezes. She thinks she sees where Bran Stark is going with this, but… she’d never dared to dream of such a thing. When she’d sworn her oaths, she’d known what they’d meant — but Brienne had also sworn them in a world where she’d believed there was no Jaime, where she’d been unable to  _ fathom _ experience that depth of emotion for another man again.

“Your Grace?” she asks him, because King Bran  _ does _ love to take his time getting to the point, doesn’t he? She does not want to let her mind get away from her, thinking of something she’d never dared to want — of something she might  _ still _ not want, if she’s being entirely honest.

“It seems it is high time someone  _ changed _ them. Ser Jaime was released from his kingsguard vows, was he not? If you so desire, you could be, too. Or you could continue to serve, under a different set of promises, leading a different sort of life.”

Bran shrugs as if it is nothing, even though it would be a change to hundreds of years worth of precedent. Still… she thinks it is a good idea, if not for her own sake, but for Podrick, who deserves love more than anyone she has ever known. For her brothers in arms, who seek comfort in brothels but could never have the comfort of a wife and a family the way things are now. 

“I think that is quite kind of you, Your Grace,” Brienne concedes, and his lips turn upwards at that, an almost smile. 

“I believe it is the right thing to do, and so I’ll do it,” he says, and Brienne is sure that he decided this before she even said a word. She’s sure he has a better idea of what  _ she _ will do, too, but he gives her the courtesy of asking all the same.

“And will you choose to indulge in the opportunities these new vows will allow, Ser Brienne?”

She has allowed Jaime back inside of her bed, and back inside of her heart… But though she appreciates Bran’s proposed changes, she is not sure they are ones she herself wants to take advantage of. Brienne loves Jaime Lannister fiercely, and she is sure that she always will. But he has failed her before — and her goals have not. Dreams of being a knight and having an honor as high as being Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could never disappoint her the way Jaime did when he left her in the dead of the night. She has always planned to do it the old way, and perhaps she is better off living a life like this, seeing it through, placing no man above her service to Brandon Stark, taking no husband. 

She can love Jaime without allowing him, and whatever family Brandon Stark is giving her permission to start, to become her whole world.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Brienne says stiffly, bowing her head. “I will think on it,” she assures him, but as she leaves, she determines that she will not speak of this to anyone, especially not Jaime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @starksistersftw.


	6. we go through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne decides what to do with Bran Stark's revisions to the Kingsguard vows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me on this fic! What was meant to be a quick one-shot back at the end of May turned into something else entirely, but I hope you've enjoyed the ride! 
> 
> P.S. not my best proofreading job on this one! I'll go back and do a bit more editing later but I did want to get this posted up before I passed out. (Also let's be real, I get anxiety about endings so if I don't post this now I may never post it 😂)

Over the next moon, guilt gnaws at Brienne. She knows that King Bran intends to change the vows of the Kingsguard for everyone, she  _ knows _ it will become public knowledge at some point — but she is not ready to tell Jaime about it yet.

Her work for the King is steady, consistent, even predictable at times. It is a constant in her life, something she can always depend on, just as she can depend on herself.

With each passing night that Jaime spends in her rooms, though, with the way he stares adoringly at her as sun creeps in through the windows and she’s rising to start her day, Brienne thinks more and more that  _ he _ can be a constant;  _ he _ can be something she can depend on.

But she’d thought that in Winterfell, too, and she remembers exactly where that had gotten her.

On an afternoon when she’s feeling particularly awful for not discussing it with him, she excuses herself from his company to go and write ravens to her father and to Lady Sansa.

Brienne always fills her letters to Sansa with more enthusiasm than she really feels. She’s never been as verbose as her lady, but the Queen in the North always seems a little lonely, when Brienne reads between the lines of her letters. It feels important to her, to try and muster up more to say, to infuse more love and joy into her words, before she sends her ravens off to Winterfell.

Her father, on the other hand, heard from her so rarely during her years on the road, that she needn’t say much to him to make him happy. In fact, the less she says to him the better at times — she wants to go to Tarth and visit him, or even let him come to King’s Landing to see her, but she worries that having too much time to converse will make her feel guilty, that she has taken his heir away from him by taking her oaths.

_ He could have his heir back _ , she reminds herself, thinking of King Bran’s declaration. But what sort of heir would she be, if she does take the title back? She’s a knight, used to roaming rather than ruling, used to war and not peace. She’s hardly the type of lady that the people might expect from an Evenstar, and she’s not sure if she wants marriage and a family of her own. Even if she takes her place in line after her father, she might still be the last.

It’s still much to think about, and Brienne is lost in those thoughts when Jaime lets himself into her chambers. He is comfortable here with her now, although Brienne is on edge, and she nearly jumps out of her seat when he presses a kiss to the side of her neck as she is sealing the message bound for Tarth.

“Surely you heard me sneak up on you,” he says, resting his hands on her shoulders and kneading them lightly. He doesn’t know what’s on her mind — he doesn’t  _ have _ to. These days, he just  _ does _ things like this for her, small kindnesses, and it fills her with a surge of warmth.

_ But it could still all end _ , that nagging voice in the back of her mind says, and Jaime only kneads harder as her shoulders tense again under his grasp.

“I always imagined Tarth was a peaceful place. Lots of blue water, lots of sheep,” Jaime japes, nodding towards her letter. 

“ _ Sheep _ ?” Brienne scoffs, although the hint of a smile tugs at her lips. How is he always  _ doing _ that, now? She’s let him back into her life and he’s slid right back into a position to knock her walls down, catch her off guard, make her  _ laugh _ . Things feel lighter when they’re together, until she remembers all that heaviness in the middle, that darkness that she lets herself slip into when she thinks about the  _ terrible _ what its... but she focuses on the light now.

If she doesn’t, she fears she might drown in the dark. 

“Yes, sheep. For… wool and things,” Jaime says, taking one hand off her shoulder and waving it dismissively. She knows that he knows more about her home than  _ that _ , he knows basic geography, so she snorts at his flippant comments.

“Of all the things you could ask about, you ask about sheep.”

“I figured it was a place to start. Leading with ‘I want to know everything’ wouldn’t have made you smile nearly as much,” he informs her, looking a little bit smug about it.

_ Gods _ , does it do things to her still when he looks like that. 

It does things to her heart that he wants to  _ know _ , too. All those years of knowing each other, it had always felt like he had some other destination, like his focus was on some other place he wanted to be.

Their courtship, if one could even really call it that, has never been conventional, but asking about her home now, that feels… more like what one would do under more normal circumstances. Brienne still doesn’t fancy herself normal, but she finds that she  _ does _ want to talk about it. She stands from her chair and heads over to sit on the edge of her bed, letting Jaime join her, and she starts to talk.

Every detail she reveals, about her home, her upbringing, her family…  Jaime hangs on to her every word, asking questions, teasing her about what she must have been like when the moment is right and placing a reassuring hand on her back or thigh when the moment is not.

They don’t fuck that night; just stay up late into the night, Brienne telling him about Tarth, opening up another piece of her life to him despite how hard she’s been trying to cling to the last things that she doesn’t share with Jaime Lannister.

Things that are hers and only hers are becoming fewer and farther between.

* * *

More days pass, days that blend into weeks, and every day, Brienne feels more and more confident that Jaime is  _ here _ , Jaime is hers, Jaime isn’t going anywhere.

And then, one day she wakes to find him not in her bed.

Her eyes scan the entirety of her room, and once she is absolutely certain that he is not there, she feels panic bubbling up inside of her. It’s like bile rising up in her throat, and she knows it’s not logical — where would he even  _ go _ now, if he left her? Down the hall to Tyrion? Back to an empty Casterly Rock?

It may not be rational, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling like Winterfell all over again, and she wills away the tears that threaten to spring to her eyes.

She doesn’t know where Jaime is, but Brienne of Tarth will not chase him, not again. Instead, she dresses, grabs Oathkeeper, and goes about her day.

If she is distracted, wondering where he might be, wondering if she’s seen the last of them or if it’s just that last night was the last of  _ them _ , no one around her seems to acknowledge it. They let her go about her duties, and Brienne pretends that irrational fear is not gnawing away at her.

_ This _ was why she hadn’t told him that Bran has promised her her life could be different, her vows could mean something different. Because she does not like this feeling, this wondering, this waiting for him to leave her again. If she does not give herself to him entirely, she can pretend that there’s good reason for it if he leaves her behind, if he realizes that a life with her is what was left and not a choice he would have made if he’d had other choices.

It’s not until she goes to take her lunch that she realizes the King is about, and he’s fixing her with one of those all-knowing stares of his. 

“Your Grace,” Brienne says, bowing her head in deference to him.

“Ser Davos was looking a bit off today — perhaps you could go down to the docks and check on the expansion progress on his behalf, Ser Brienne?” Bran asks her in that voice that is clearly not a request, but a command. 

She agrees instantly, because what choice does she have? Service to Bran Stark is the life Sansa has pleaded with her to take, so it is the life she chooses.

She heads to the docks as soon as she can, glad that her confusion about the King and his commands distracts her from wondering at where Jaime has gone, at least.

* * *

Brienne is not surprised, not really, when she gets to the docks and sees that there is not even construction happening at present.

There is, however, a familiar figure sitting at the end of the least crowded dock, staring off into the distance. The knot that has been in Brienne’s stomach all day eases at the sight of Jaime, but only for a moment.

Some days she thinks she knows him like the back of her hand. Today is one of those days, as she sees the sag in his posture and can sense immediately that something is off.

Brienne coughs lightly, to gently warn him that she is there, and he doesn’t turn, not at first. He doesn’t seem to close himself off from her, either, though, so Brienne tentatively takes a step forward, then crouches beside him.

“Sit,” he encourages her, but his voice is hoarse from disuse or perhaps something else that Brienne is not yet able to name. She does as instructed, twice in one day, only this instruction she follows because she wishes to, and not because her duty compels her to.

“You were gone this morning,” she says, as if it’s an offhanded comment and not something that has caused her unnecessary panic.

He turns to her, eyes wide, as if he realizes for the first time what he has done, what she might have thought, to wake and find herself in that position.

“Brienne, I — “ he begins, but he’s clearly at a loss. She knows that the fear she’d felt is still reflected in her eyes, and he turns back towards the water, looking forlorn.

“Today would have been Myrcella’s name day,” he finally says, and it’s not an apology. It is,  _ however _ , an explanation, one that makes her want to wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

She does not, though; she gives him the space he needs to process, to speak when he wants, to reveal what he is comfortable revealing.

It’s another part of him he’s giving to her, a part she hasn’t had before. The memories of his children, what they really meant to him — it’s all been bottled up, and now it’s being released, no longer held back by walls that have been broken down between them.

“I never got to be a real father to them. I never got to be much of anything at all,” he says, and he does not sound as bitter as she’d expected. Just sad, mostly. Sad for what he’d never gotten to have, sad for what he’d lost.

“The day she died — in my arms, out there, on our way back…” Jaime shudders, and Brienne  _ does _ reach out for him this time, wraps an arm firmly around him. She hadn’t known that, only that the princess had been lost at Ellaria Sand’s hands. She’s never known anything about her until now, and Jaime keeps going.

“She was the only one who ever knew, the only one who told me she was happy that I was her father. She was always so happy — so gentle, so  _ good _ , all the things Cersei and Robert and I never showed her how to be. She found a way to be those things on her own, and she…” 

He swallows, and Brienne feels it more deeply than she should.  _ His _ pain, his experiences, it’s like they’re hers, too, even though she wasn’t there and she knows she’ll never  _ truly _ understand.

As he turns his body towards her and lets her wrap him up fully in an embrace, his head sagging against her shoulder, Brienne  _ does _ understand something, though.

Myrcella and Tommen and Joffrey, they were not enough for him. The baby, the one Cersei had been pregnant with before she’d died… That one could have been his chance to try again. The realization floors her, though she’s not entirely sure what it is about it.

“You wished for that life, didn’t you? One where you could raise your children as your own, where — “ 

Brienne doesn’t have to finish. He’s nodding into her neck, his beard scratching against her neck, his breaths shallower now. Jaime doesn’t pull back from her, but he does start talking, does  _ answer _ the questions she didn’t even get to finish asking.

“She was  _ winning _ , Brienne. She was carrying  _ my _ child, and I’d left them for dead, and then she was  _ winning _ and I just…”

Brienne had never thought about it that way, but to see him so torn up about the memory of a daughter that had never truly been his, and to hear him lay it before her so plainly…

She knows that the pain she felt when he chose to go back to Cersei is valid, that it’s pain she’s allowed to feel. But it’s not pain she wants anymore, not now that she’s thinking about it in this different way. Not now that she realizes how badly Jaime wants children of his own, how a part of him must have always wanted a family he could love and call his own.

He’d made so many choices out of his love of Cersei, but maybe that last one… Maybe it hadn’t really been about Cersei at all. Or if it was, it wasn’t  _ all _ about her, wasn’t a matter of choosing her over Brienne so much as the family they could have over the love of a woman who even now chooses duty to her King over him.

Maybe she’s wrong after all. As she lets Jaime clutch onto her, Brienne thinks maybe she wants to know what this is like, to have a child of her own. 

Of  _ their _ own.

She vows that when this is past, on a different day that holds different memories, she will finally tell him about Bran’s decision to let Kingsguard leave his service, or even to marry if they remain in it.

* * *

Brienne assumes that the resolution she had felt on the docks with Jaime will fade. She thinks that it was a moment driven by emotion, but that rationality will catch up to her and she might change her mind again.

She doesn’t.

She tosses and turns all night, imagining Jaime wrapping a cloak around her shoulders; Jaime, talking to her stomach as it swells with child; a little girl, one that has Jaime’s green eyes and her straw blonde hair, or maybe a little boy with Jaime’s golden curls and her eyes of blue.

It’s so vivid and real, when it’s never something she’d let herself think on before. Even in Winterfell, there had been war all around them — she’d been too busy thinking on if they’d even survive to think of what might come after.

Now after is here, a peaceful after where Jaime continue to prove that he trusts her, relies on her, won’t hide things from her again. If he can talk openly of his children, and even of Cersei, then it seems maybe he can share  _ everything _ with her.

And Brienne thinks she wants to share everything with him, too. For real this time, with no more closed off pieces of herself that she keeps close to her chest. 

“I love you,” she tells him soundly the next morning. The words are not new, but Brienne  _ does _ tend to let them come from him first. She reciprocates rather than initiates; like it’s a concession on her end, rather than a proud declaration.

Perhaps it’s made easier by the fact that her back is towards him, though, and she is already starting to dress. In case he takes what she has to say poorly, in case they’re not on the same page after all, she can make her escape more readily this way.

Still, even without looking at him, she hears the sharp intake of breath, and she can imagine the floored look on his face. The one he has when she surprises him, but in the best of ways. She loves that look, but she will not turn around, not before she has gotten out all that she needs to say.

“King Bran will release Kingsguard from his service, honorably, if they wish to leave,” Brienne tells him, barely more than a mumble. Jaime doesn’t say anything, and she wonders if he understands what she is getting at. Perhaps not — sometimes, he is groggy with sleep in the morning, not as spry as he once was.

“And he will allow his guard to marry, even if they do stay in his service,” she continues, but that garners no response either. Finishing lacing up her shirt, she turns to face him, and annoyance creeps up when she realizes that he  _ is _ fully alert, just staring at her with the most neutral of expressions on his face.

“Well?” she demands, because she wants to know what he’s thinking. Had she been wrong, to start imagining a family with him? Had she been stupid to get ahead of herself like that, all over one soft moment, a mere  _ day’s _ worth of thinking about it?

“I know,” Jaime tells her, and Brienne’s face scrunches in confusion. 

“You  _ know _ ?” she asks, her voice rising. She doesn’t let many people get under her skin, but Jaime listening to what she had thought was a huge admittance on her part and then saying he already  _ knew _ certainly gets to her in a way that only he can.

“My brother  _ is _ the Hand of the King, in case you’ve forgotten. Short, missing half a nose, likes to drink and know things? You might see him at council meetings from time to time,” Jaime jests, and she glares at him.

“I’ve just told you I could marry you if you wanted and you  _ mock _ me?” Brienne asks him, incredulous. Only then does Jaime’s teasing smile split wider, into something real.

“ _ Is _ that what you’ve just told me, Ser Brienne? Because it sounded like you were just stating a fact, I must have missed the part where you said ‘Ser Jaime, now that I’m permitted to do with my personal life as I please, I was hoping I might do you the absolute honor of being your lady wife,’” Jaime says, but he’s breathless, his eyes wide with hope.

Brienne used to want to be loved the way that fair maidens in the story are loved — admired from afar, wooed, doted on, treated as delicate flowers. But she’s  _ felt _ love now, real and raw and right, and it feels  _ different _ than what she’d imagine.  _ Better _ . It has been hard, and it has been anything but normal, but Brienne thinks she might like it that way after all.  

And that’s why she doesn’t wait for Jaime to ask her first. He won’t, of course he won’t, not when they have silently agreed that their relationship is to be on her terms, not when she is the one in control of their destiny now. He wants whatever pieces of herself she is willing to give, and it has been long enough for her to be sure now — she wants to give it all.

“Ser Jaime, now that I’m permitted to do with my personal life as I please, I was hoping I might do you the absolute honor of being your lady wife,” Brienne says back, mimicking his words. It’s unconventional, like her, like them, but her heart  _ swells _ as he leaps from the bed, coming round to where she’s sitting and falling at his knees before her. Jaime takes her hands in his good one, kissing them, murmuring  _ yes, yes, absolutely yes _ between each kiss.

If Jaime were to have his way, they would rush to find a septon right now, and be declared married before the hour is done. But Brienne wants Podrick there, and she at least wants  _ word _ to be given to her father, and Lady Sansa, before she is wed. 

They settle for taking right back off the clothes that Brienne has put on, and as they make love on top of the furs, Brienne doesn’t feel any different than before, not really. She is a woman promised now, but she feels as though she and Jaime are already like a man and wife, in all but name. 

After Brienne has tumbled over the edge, though, and finds herself curled into Jaime’s side, she  _ does _ think that it will be nice, to have that name on things, too.

* * *

In the end, Sansa  _ does _ come down from Winterfell for the wedding. It is a small affair; Jaime Lannister is not a name that carries much respect, and Brienne of Tarth is not a person who wishes to have people there just for the sake of being there. 

Still, even without all of the fanfare, it is a union of love, and Sansa tells her that that is the most beautiful kind of wedding there can be. 

She doesn’t wear a dress — that is not her style, it never has been. And though she’s sure Jaime would have found her desirable in one, she would rather be comfortable in her own skin, on this day of all days.

They say the words that they already live by, that they have already felt for longer than either cared to admit — “I am hers, she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” and though Brienne doesn’t cry, Jaime does. So do her father, and Tyrion, and Lady Sansa, and Podrick most of all.

It is truly something, to love and be loved. She had never imagined a day like this, one where she is surrounded by a husband who has earned back her trust, brick by brick, who fought for her to love him even when she’d been ready to toss love away.

As they move to a small feast of celebration, Jaime never leaves her side. He is everywhere, calling her wife at every chance he gets, basking in the glow of being a man married — something that Tyrion points out none of them  _ ever  _ thought they’d see happen. 

Ser Davos and Gendry both hug her and give her their well wishes; Bronn makes lewd comments about the two of them and raises a toast not to them, but to himself. He credits he and Tyrion and Podrick with making sure ‘those two twats’ found their way back to each other, and on a normal day, Brienne would be annoyed by his tastelessness.

Today, though, nothing can annoy her. Today, she is amused, and she turns to Jaime, and he is smiling at her, the brightest smile she’s ever seen, one that’s brightness might even rival the sun.

_ I am his, and he is mine _ , Brienne thinks, blissfully happy in a way that she did not truly believe they would find but now cannot imagine living without.

They linger, long into the night, Jaime basking in being able to proudly show off his love for once in his life. Brienne looks around and sees what her life has become — the wife of Jaime Lannister, the first lady knight, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Confidante of the Queen in the North, friend to the Lord of the Stormlands, an onion knight, and a sellsword who now calls Highgarden his own.

For a moment it almost feels like life has given her all that she could ever have wanted. Brienne thinks that it cannot possibly last, but as she and Jaime finally retire and Bran Stark gives her the closest thing she’s ever seen to a smile, she remembers that she has been wrong before. Impossible things  _ have _ happened before; maybe her happiness will not be short-lived.

* * *

Two years pass, as Brienne continue her service to the Kingsguard. She and Jaime build their life in King’s Landing, but mostly they build it around each other.

And then, her moonsblood stops coming, and suddenly they are building their lives around another instead.

When she offers her resignation to the King, it’s clear he already knew. Bran sees things, knows things, and sometimes she wonders if he even meddles, to see that things go down the path that he prefers.

She wonders for a moment if she and Jaime finding their way to each other was an outcome Bran wanted, but it does no good to wonder at the strange king and his stranger whims. Instead, she focuses on the future, bright and full of possibilities. Full of family, full of love — full of all the things she and Jaime will teach their son and daughter, once they are back on Tarth.

The last thing she does before they set sail for what will be their new home is pass the duties of Lord Commander on to Podrick. If he cried at her wedding, Brienne cries a bit as she sees him standing tall, not just a knight of the Seven Kingdoms but  _ the _ Knight, the one to serve the king most closely.

The one to finish her page in the White Book for her, someday, when he sees fit.

As they board the boat, hand in hand, and look back towards the city that has come back to life stronger than before it was razed to the ground, Brienne thinks on what might  _ be _ on those pages, someday. She knows that Podrick will do her life justice, the way that she did Jaime’s, those years ago when she thought she’d lost him.

Brienne  _ also _ knows that there is much more life to live. Jaime stands behind her as their ship sets sail, his hands resting protectively on her stomach. She tilts her her back towards the sun, basking in it, basking in  _ them _ , and as they push off the dock, Brienne finds that she’s more excited for this new journey into parenthood with the man who taught her what love truly meant than for any other journey her life has ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @starksistersftw.


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